Chapter 2: A Sketch in the Sand
Knox leaned back on the towel, propping himself on one elbow in the sand. With his free hand he circled Rhea's waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing, settling her against his chest. His thighs bracketed her hips, and she sank into the heat of his body, her chest pressed to his broad flank, her feet dangling above the sand.
"You okay?" His voice rumbled through his ribs against her spine.
Rhea nodded, then realized he couldn't see her face. "Yes."
"Good."
Anji rose from her spot on the sand, brushing grit from her thighs. "I'll leave you two to it." She was already stepping back, gathering her sarong.
"Wait." Rhea heard the word leave her mouth before she'd decided to say it. "Stay."
Anji paused, a slow smile curling her lips. "You sure, honey?"
Rhea felt Knox's chest lift in a low, silent laugh. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, light and absent.
"Yes. I want you to watch."
Anji settled back down, folding her legs, her dark eyes bright. "Well. I ain't going anywhere, then."
Sun hammered the sand. Rhea's skin had gone slick with sweat, her thighs pressed together, her heart a loose drum against her ribs. She could feel the weight of Knox's body behind her, the constant, solid press of his bare chest against her shoulder blades, the slow rhythm of his breath. Half the beach had been watching them since Knox knelt, and the crowd had only grown. Bodies ringed them now, a loose semicircle of sun-warmed skin, murmuring soft and curious.
Rhea's breath came in short, shallow pulls. The sun pressed down on her shoulders, and the weight of a hundred eyes sat heavier than the heat. Knox's chest rose and fell under her, steady as a tide.
"Breathe," he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. "We're going slow. That's the deal. You relax first."
She let out a shaky exhale. His hand settled on her stomach, palm flat, enormous. His thumb drew a slow circle against her skin. The heat of his touch seemed to sink straight through her.
"I'm trying," she said.
"I know." His voice was low, patient. "That's why I'm not moving yet."
The crowd had thickened. A loose ring of bodies had formed around them, sun-warmed and curious. Some stood with arms crossed. Others had settled onto towels of their own, pretending not to watch while stealing glances over sunglasses. The murmur of conversation rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional laugh.
A shadow fell across the sand.
Rhea looked up. A young man stood at the edge of the ring, lean and pale, with dark wavy hair falling across his forehead. His arms were covered in ink, waves and anchors and creatures that seemed to shift as he moved. In one hand he held a sketchbook. In the other, a stub of charcoal.
He cleared his throat. His green eyes flicked between them, bright and intense.
"Sorry to interrupt." His voice was quiet, a little rough. "I'm an artist. I was wondering... could I draw you?"
Knox's chest shifted against Rhea's back. She felt his gaze move to her, waiting.
She shrugged, a small motion. "I don't mind."
Knox turned to the young man. "What's your name?"
"Barry." He shifted his weight, charcoal tapping against the sketchbook. "Barry Farnham."
"Knox." He nodded toward Rhea. "This is Rhea."
"Nice to meet you both." Barry's gaze swept over them, cataloging. His eyes lingered on the difference in their sizes, the way Rhea disappeared against Knox's chest. "I draw what I see. I won't get in the way."
Knox's mouth curved. "You're welcome to draw. But Rhea gets any drawing she likes."
Barry blinked. "Really?"
"Really."
A grin spread across Barry's face. He moved quickly, unfolding a small canvas stool from a bag Rhea hadn't noticed he was carrying. He set it up at the edge of the ring, a respectful distance away, and sat. The stool creaked under his weight.
He opened the sketchbook to a blank page. His charcoal moved, a quick, confident line. His body, completely bare and relaxed, shifted slightly on the stool, his pale skin glistening with sweat in the sun. His cock rested against his thigh, unashamed and natural as he focused on the page before him.
"Don't mind me," he said, eyes already flicking between them and the page. "Pretend I'm not here."
Rhea found herself smiling despite the tension coiling in her belly. "That's going to be hard with you staring like that."
Barry's mouth twitched. "It's a compliment. The light's good. You're both very... striking."
Knox's laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her spine. "Striking. I like that."
His hand slid from her stomach down to her hip. His palm covered the entire curve of it. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh, a deliberate, grounding weight.
Rhea's breath caught. She could feel the eyes on them again, the crowd settling into a hush of anticipation. Anji shifted on the sand a few feet away, folding her legs, her dark gaze fixed on them.
The silence stretched, filled only by the scratch of charcoal on paper and the distant hiss of the tide. Knox's hand stayed on her hip, heavy and warm.
"Do you do this a lot?" Rhea asked.
Knox's thumb paused mid-stroke. "Do what?"
She let out a small chuckle, her shoulders shaking against his chest. "Sex on a crowded beach in the early afternoon."
His chest rumbled under her. "Believe it or not, it's not a common thing for me."
She tilted her head back just enough to catch the corner of his jaw. "You didn't say you'd never done it before."
"No, I didn't." His fingers traced the line of her hip bone. "I've done it a few times. On a beach, that is. There was a party once. Another time up the coast with a woman I never saw again."
"Sounds about right," she murmured.
"What about you?" His voice was low, curious.
"First time on a beach." She paused, her pulse quickening. "Not my first time in public."
His hand stilled. "No?"
"No. There was a guy in college. We did it in the back of a packed lecture hall during a film screening. Had to be quiet. I nearly didn't make it out without being spotted."
"Nearly."
"Nearly." She smiled. "He didn't last long enough to get caught."
Knox's laugh came low and warm. "That's a good way to start."
Barry's charcoal scratched across the page, a quick, deliberate sound. Rhea could feel the weight of his gaze moving between them, cataloging angles, catching the arch of her spine against Knox's ribcage.
"So if it's not common," she said, "why now? Why me?"
Knox was quiet for a moment. His hand slid up her stomach, settling just below her ribs. His palm spanned nearly the whole width of her torso.
"Because when I saw you on that towel," he said, "you looked like you'd been waiting for something. And I had a feeling I could give it to you."
Her breath caught. She turned her face against his chest, the hair on his pec rough against her cheek, the heat of his skin sinking into her.
"That's a big promise."
"I don't make promises I can't keep."
Anji made a soft sound from her spot in the sand. "He ain't lying, honey. I've seen him around. He's got a reputation for follow-through."
Knox's eyes flicked to her. "You trying to sell me?"
"No, I'm just telling the truth." Anji's grin was wide. "She wanted a man who'd make her feel little. I found her one."
Barry's charcoal stopped. He looked up, green eyes bright. "Can I ask what that means? Little?"
Rhea tensed. Knox's hand pressed flat against her belly, grounding.
"It means I know exactly how much bigger I am," Knox said, his voice easy. "And I know exactly how to use it."
Barry nodded slowly. His gaze traveled over Rhea's small frame, then up Knox's broad chest, the column of his throat. He looked back at the page and resumed drawing.
"That's a beautiful dynamic," he said. "I don't see it often. Most couples here are the same size. Or they try to pretend they are."
Rhea blinked. "You can tell that just by looking?"
"People tell you everything without saying a word." Barry's charcoal moved in quick, sure strokes. "The way you lean into him. The way he holds you. It's like you were both waiting for the other."
Barry's words hung in the air, and Rhea felt them settle somewhere deep in her chest. The way he saw it so plainly, strangers reading her like a book written in the language of leaning and holding. She turned her face into the warmth of Knox's chest, and his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer until her back curved against his side.
She looped her arm across his torso, her fingers splaying against the hard plane of his abdomen. Her palm was small enough that it only covered a fraction of the muscle there. She could feel his breath moving through him, slow and patient.
And she could feel his cock, heavy and warm against her outer thigh.
The contact was incidental at first, just the natural press of two bodies. But she became acutely aware of it, the weight of it, the thick curve of it resting against her leg. Her skin prickled. She shifted, a small adjustment of her hips, and her thigh bumped against the length of him with a deliberate pressure she hadn't consciously chosen.
Knox didn't say a word. But she felt his chest lift in a quiet breath, and when she glanced up at his face, there was a smirk at the corner of his mouth, lazy and knowing.
The murmur in the crowd rose a notch. She heard a woman's low laugh, a man's appreciative whistle from somewhere further back in the ring. They were watching. Waiting. The anticipation had a texture to it now, thick as the heat.
Rhea realized with a jolt that they were expecting a show.
"Knox." Her voice came out quieter than she meant.
"Mm?"
"Do you think you can find the right balance?" She swallowed, her fingers tightening against his ribs. "Between being gentle. And being, if I ask for it, the right kind of not gentle?"
His hand slid up from her belly to cup her breast. His palm covered it completely, and his thumb swept across her nipple, slow and deliberate. The motion made her breath catch, her toes curl against the air.
"I think," he said, his voice a low rumble against her spine, "that you're going to have to trust me."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." His thumb circled her nipple again. "Trust me, and I'll find the balance. When you're ready for the other thing, you'll tell me. And I intend to earn that trust before I ever lay a finger on you the way you're thinking about."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. His fingers kept working at her nipple, teasing, steady, and she arched into his hand before she could stop herself.
"How will I know when I'm ready?" she asked.
He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "You'll know because I'll feel it. You'll get still. And then you'll say my name, and I'll give you exactly what you asked for."
Anji shifted on the sand a few feet away, and Rhea was dimly aware of the woman's smile, dark and satisfied. Barry's charcoal scratched across the page, a quick, eager sound, capturing the line of her body arching into Knox's hand.
Rhea's breath came short. She turned her face into the hollow of his throat, feeling the pulse there, steady and strong. The crowd's murmur pressed in around them, but she couldn't hear it anymore. Only his heartbeat, only the slow rhythm of his breathing.
"Knox." His name came out small. "I'm nervous."
His hand stilled on her breast. "I know."
"What if I can't go through with it?"
"Then you don't." His voice was patient, warm. "That's the rule. But I want you to try. Trust me to get you closer to ready. That's all I'm asking. Close enough that you know exactly what you want before we go any further."
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were steady, hazel and calm. He wasn't rushing her. He wasn't pressuring her. He was simply waiting, like the tide waiting for the moon.
She nodded.
Knox's mouth curved. He moved slowly, shifting his weight, pulling her upright with him until she sat astride his thighs. The sand was hot beneath her knees, and his cock pressed against the inside of her thigh, thick and warm. She breathed through the sensation, letting her body settle.
"Good." His hands found her waist. "Now hold on to my head."
She blinked. "What?"
"Trust me."
Her heart skipped. She reached up, hesitant, and placed her hands on either side of his face. His skin was hot, his jaw rough with stubble. He looked at her for a long moment, letting her touch him, then his hands tightened on her waist.
"Legs over my shoulders," he said.
She understood a heartbeat before he moved. She swung her right leg up, then her left, and Knox lifted her clean off his thighs. The world tilted. She gasped, clutching at his head as he rose to his knees, cradling her weight like she was nothing but air.
She was on his shoulders.
Her thighs bracketed his neck. Her arms wrapped around his head for balance, fingers tangling in his short hair. He straightened his back, and the entire beach seemed to draw a collective breath. She was above him now, suspended, weightless, her bare center hovering just inches from his mouth.
"Knox." Her voice came out high and thin. "I'm not going to fall, am I?"
His hands spread across her buttocks, palms swallowing each cheek. His grip was iron, steady. "No. I've got you."
She looked down. His face was right there, tipped up to meet her eyes. The sun haloed his head. His mouth was a breath away from her folds, close enough that she felt the warmth of his exhale on her skin.
"Oh," she breathed.
Anji made a sharp sound from the sand. Rhea glanced over. The woman's dark eyes were wide, her lips parted, one hand pressed to her chest. Barry's charcoal was moving in fast, sure strokes, his green eyes darting between them and the page with feverish intensity.
The crowd had gone quiet.
Knox's thumbs traced slow circles on the soft flesh of her buttocks. His grip shifted, adjusting her weight. She tightened her thighs around his neck, and his mouth curved in a smile she could feel more than see.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper. "No. I don't know."
"That's okay." His thumbs pressed deeper into the meat of her cheeks. "Just breathe."
She did. The heat of his breath washed over her, warm and damp. Her clit throbbed with the proximity, the knowledge of what was so close. She could feel the moisture gathering between her thighs. She knew he could see it.
"Knox." His name came out ragged.
"Tell me what you need."
"I don't know yet." She swallowed, her fingers tightening in his hair. "I'm still figuring that out."
"Then we wait." His voice was low, rumbling up through his chest, vibrating against her inner thighs. "I told you, we go slow. When you know, you'll say my name."
A laugh bubbled up in her throat, half nervous, half giddy. "I think I'm going to say your name a lot. I can't think of anything except your hands on me and your mouth."
"That's fine." His hands tightened on her buttocks, lifting her slightly, adjusting her angle. His mouth hovered closer. "I like hearing it."
She felt the soft brush of his lips against her inner thigh, just above her knee. A test. A question. Her breath caught.
"Yes."
The word came out soft, nearly swallowed by the thrum of the crowd. But Knox heard it. His hands tightened on her buttocks, and his mouth moved from the inside of her thigh to the seam of her pussy. One long, slow lick from her entrance to the hard little nub of her clit.
Rhea's whole body jerked. Her fingers knotted in his hair, her thighs gripping his neck. The heat of his tongue was a brand against her skin, wet and broad and certain. He did it again, slower this time, dragging through her slick folds like he was tasting something rare.
"That's it," he murmured against her, the words vibrating straight into her.
She felt the crowd's murmur shift, a collective intake of breath. Somewhere behind her, Anji made a low, approving sound. The scratch of Barry's charcoal had grown faster, more urgent, an artist chasing a moment before it slipped away.
Knox's tongue parted her folds. He lapped at her with deliberate, unhurried strokes, from bottom to top, each pass circling her clit before diving back down. His grip on her buttocks adjusted, tilting her hips toward his mouth at a better angle. The sun hammered her skin. Her thighs trembled around his neck.
"Knox." Her voice came out broken, high.
He answered by closing his lips around her clit.
The suction was gentle at first, a soft tug that sent a bolt of lightning through her pelvis. Her hips bucked against his face, and one of his hands slid from her buttock to the small of her back, steadying her. The other hand stayed on her ass, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, holding her open.
He sucked her clit between his lips and rolled his tongue over it, slow and firm. Rhea's vision blurred. The sky, the sea, the ring of bodies, all of it melted into a wash of heat and light. All she could feel was his mouth, his tongue, the rasp of his stubble against her inner thighs.
"There you go," he breathed against her, and the sound of his voice through her flesh made her clench harder.
His tongue flicked across her clit, fast and light, then he sealed his mouth over it again and drew her deeper. His other hand slipped between her cheeks, two thick fingers finding her entrance. He didn't push. He just rested them there, a promise, a weight.
"Keep going," she gasped. "Don't stop."
He didn't.
His tongue worked her in slow, languid circles, punctuated by quick, sharp flicks. He knew exactly how to build the pressure, exactly how long to hold her on the edge before easing back. Rhea's hips rolled against his face. Her fingers raked through his short hair, holding his head between her thighs.
"Knox, Knox, I'm going to—"
He pressed his fingers inside her.
The stretch was sudden and complete. One thick digit sank into her, then a second, spreading her open with a pressure that made her cry out. He held her up with one strong arm, freeing his other hand to slip inside her, his fingers curling against that spot that made her toes curl against the air while his tongue kept working at her clit, relentless.
"Oh, God."
He withdrew his fingers almost to the tips and drove them back in, slow and deep. His tongue flattened against her clit, broad and wet, and he lapped at her in long, dragging strokes that matched the rhythm of his fingers. The crowd's murmur swelled around them. She heard a man's low whistle, a woman's sharp laugh, but it was all distant, underwater.
She was about to come. She could feel it building, a coiling pressure in her belly, a tingling rush spreading through her thighs.
"Knox." His name was a prayer. "Please. I'm so close."
He answered by closing his lips around her clit and sucking hard, his fingers pressing deep inside her. His tongue lashed against the swollen bud in quick, brutal strokes, and Rhea's body bowed against his head. The orgasm crashed through her like a wave, sudden and total. Her thighs clamped around his neck. Her fingers yanked at his hair.
She cried out, a sharp, wordless sound that cut through the murmur of the beach. Knox didn't stop. He rode her through it, his tongue easing into slow, soothing licks as the spasms wracked her body. His fingers stayed inside her, still, grounding.
When the last tremors faded, she slumped against his head, boneless and panting. Her breasts heaved. Sweat cooled on her skin. The crowd had gone quiet again, but the silence felt different now, charged with something before.
Knox withdrew his fingers slowly and pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh. His mouth opened to speak, a quiet sound forming in his chest.
Rhea moved before the word arrived. She swung one leg over his head, then the other, twisting her body in a single fluid motion. He barely had time to react before she was straddling him the other way, facing his feet, her slick center pressed down against his mouth.
Knox let out a low noise, half laugh, half groan, and lay back on the towel. His hands came up to her hips, grounding. She settled her weight over his face, feeling the heat of his breath against her folds, the scratch of his jaw against her thighs. His tongue found her immediately, a long, slow drag from entrance to clit.
"Jesus," she breathed.
She leaned forward, her chest pressing against his stomach and the hard swell of his abdomen. Her breasts flattened against his skin, her nipples brushing the coarse hair below his navel. She stretched her arms above her head, past her face, and her hand encountered something thick and heavy.
His cock, standing against his belly.
Her fingers wrapped around it. They didn't even come close to circling. Her thumb and middle finger only spanned half its width, and the shaft was hot and rigid in her grip. She felt it pulse. She let out a shuddering breath.
"We positioned ourselves like we know what we're doing," Knox's voice rumbled up through his chest, muffled against her flesh.
Her hand tightened. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
"That makes two of us."
His tongue dipped back into her, and she gasped, her hips rolling. She worked his cock in slow, experimental strokes, her palm sliding up the length of it, feeling the thick ridge of the head, the veins that pulsed beneath her fingers. It was hot. Slick with something wet she hadn't noticed until now, maybe his own desire, maybe the salt of her skin.
The crowd's murmur had sharpened again, a rising buzz that circled them like the heat. She heard a woman's low laugh, a man's muttered words she couldn't catch. Barry's charcoal scratched against the page, faster, more frantic. Anji said nothing.
Rhea pressed her lips to Knox's stomach, tasting salt and sun. He bucked slightly under her tongue, and she felt the length of his cock throb against her palm. She worked her hand along the shaft, slow and firm, feeling the impossible thickness of it, imagining for a single dizzying second what it would be like to take it.
Knox's tongue drove into her, and the thought scattered.
His fingers dug into her hips as he worked her with a rhythm she couldn't predict. He lapped at her clit with long, flat strokes, then curled his tongue inside her. Her whole body tensed, her hand stilling on his cock.
"Knox," she gasped.
He answered by closing his lips over her clit and sucking. A shock of pleasure ran through her like lightning. She bowed forward, her forehead pressing into the taut plane of his stomach, her hand gripping his cock so hard she felt him tense.
The sun hammered the sand. The crowd's noise pressed in.
She lifted her head, blinking sweat from her eyes. The world swam back into focus, and there it was. Knox's cock stood against his belly, so close she could have counted the veins, and still impossibly far.
She stared at it. She'd been stroking it blind, feeling only the heat and the throb. Seeing it made her breath catch. It was enormous, uncut, the skin drawn back over the dark head, slick with the wetness her palm had left behind. It looked like it was looking at her.
She pushed herself up on her elbows, craning her neck. Her mouth was maybe two inches from the tip. Two inches, and she couldn't span it. She stretched her lips forward, straining, her tongue touching the hot skin above his navel.
No good. Her hips would have to slide off Knox's face to reach it. She'd have to lift her pussy away from his mouth, and he was doing something with his tongue right now that made her toes curl. She measured the distance again, trying to find an angle, an arch, any way to make it work.
Nothing.
She let out a frustrated sound, low in her throat.
Knox's laughter rumbled up through her. His hands tightened on her hips. "Trouble, little one?"
"I can't reach you." She said it flat, a fact. "You're too big and I'm too short."
"Seems I've heard that before."
From somewhere behind her, Anji laughed. The sound was warm, commiserating, a woman who had been in exactly this position and knew the physics of it intimately. "Honey, I've been there. Six inches of air between your mouth and a good time. It's the loneliest stretch of sand on the beach."
Rhea groaned. Her hips settled against Knox's mouth again, and his tongue found her immediately, a long, slow drag that made her forget the distance for a heartbeat. But the cock loomed at the edge of her vision, thick and proud, so close and so far.
She pushed up again, testing. Her thighs shook with the strain. She arched her spine, extending her neck, and her tongue grazed the very tip of the head. Just barely. A slick, salty kiss.
Then her hip slipped off his cheek and she dropped back down, gasping.
Knox made a low noise of protest, his hands steadying her. "Careful."
"I was trying."
"I know." His voice came up through her, patient. "You'll get there."
She wanted to. The need had turned sharp and specific, a hunger she hadn't known she'd had until she couldn't satisfy it. She looked at the cock again. Then she looked down at Knox's face between her thighs, his eyes meeting hers through the gap between her legs.
She saw the nod first. A small, decisive dip of his chin through the gap between her thighs. Then his mouth sealed back over her, tongue flat and broad, and the heat of it wiped everything else from her mind.
But he was doing something else now. She felt it in the way his hands tightened on her hips, the way his whole body went still beneath her. Then he moved. His abs contracted, a visible ripple of muscle along his stomach, and he lifted his hips off the sand. The motion was slow, controlled, his spine arching up toward her. His cock rose with it, climbing the air, closing the impossible distance.
Rhea's eyes went wide. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her mouth opening before she'd fully understood what was happening. The head of his cock met her lips. It was thick, blunt, hot as a stone from the sun. Her lips stretched around it, a desperate ring of flesh fighting to contain something too large for the job.
She got the first inch. Maybe two. The head seated against her tongue, heavy and pulsing, and she couldn't take another fraction of an inch. Her jaw ached immediately. She opened wider, straining, and felt the ridge of the crown press against the back of her tongue. Still, there was so much more beyond it. Inches of shaft rising from his body, thick as her wrist, slick with the wetness her palm had left behind.
She could feel every ab in his torso quivering. The pose was costing him. She could taste the salt of his skin, mixed with something else, something bitter and sharp. Precum. It beaded at the tip of his cock and she lapped at it, reflex more than choice, her tongue curling around the head.
He made a low sound against her pussy, a rumble that vibrated through her whole body. His tongue kept working, slower now, distracted. She felt the tremble in his abs, the strain in his hips. He wouldn't hold this long. She had to make it count.
She closed her lips around the head and sucked.
The motion drew more of the bitter fluid from him, spilling across her tongue. She swallowed. He shuddered, his whole body rocking against her. His tongue stabbed into her, a sharp thrust that made her gasp around his cock. Her throat tightened, and the sensation of her squeezing him made him groan.
She sucked again, harder, her cheeks hollowing. Her tongue pressed against the underside of the head, tracing the sensitive ridge. His hands clamped on her hips, so hard she felt the bruises forming. His abs were shaking now, a fine tremor that traveled up through his torso.
She gave it a valiant effort. Her lips worked the crown of Knox's cock with everything she had, her tongue pressing and curling and doing the things she knew how to do, but the angle was ruinous and the size was worse. Her jaw ached after less than a minute. She could feel his abs trembling under her, holding the arch that kept him pressed to her mouth, and she knew exactly how hard he was straining. It was not her best work. Not even close. She had given better head to men half his size in far worse conditions, and this was supposed to be the main event.
She let his head slip from her lips with a wet, reluctant sound. A string of spit and salt stretched between them, then broke against her chin. She sighed, and the sigh was internal, quiet, lost under the beach's murmur.
Then she moved. She planted her palms on either side of his hips and shimmied forward, dragging her slick center off his mouth. Knox made a low sound of protest, but his abs went slack the instant she pulled away, his back settling into the sand with a relieved groan. She felt the whole length of him relax beneath her, the tension draining out of that sculpted stomach inch by inch.
She crawled down his body until her knees bracketed his ribs, and she sat up. From here, his cock stood straight up off his belly like something growing from the earth. It was enormous. Seen head-on, unblinking, it was nearly the length of her entire forearm. If she laid her arm alongside it, tip to tip, she doubted there would be an inch of difference. Almost the exact length of her face from chin to hairline too, she realized with a small, dizzy lurch.
She reached for it with both hands.
Her fingers met around the middle and still could not close. Both hands, ten fingers, and the shaft spilled out of her grip on either side. She stared at the tiny span of her hands around that thick column and felt something between awe and humiliation. She could not get a real hold on him. Not with two hands. Not with anything.
So she used them the way she could. She slid her palms up the shaft, one after the other, a slow alternating stroke that milked the length of him. He was hot, rigid, the skin smooth and slick. Precum welled at the tip and she smeared it down the shaft with her thumb, using it, feeling the texture of veins and ridges move under her hands.
Behind her, charcoal scratched across paper.
She bent her head and licked. A long, slow drag of her tongue from the base of his shaft to just under the head, tasting salt and skin and the faint bitterness of him. Knox's whole body twitched. She did it again on the other side, then up the top, then another slow stroke with her hands. Her tongue traced the heavy ridge of his crown, the thick lip of foreskin, the impossibly soft skin stretched over something so hard.
"Lord," Barry breathed from his stool. "Hold that."
Rhea lifted her head, a question in her throat.
"Not your tongue." Barry's charcoal hovered over the page, his green eyes bright and locked on her. "Your face. Put it against your face. I want to get the scale."
She understood. She turned her head sideways, lifted his cock with both hands, and laid it against her cheek.
It ran from just under her chin to above her eyebrow. The head pressed against her temple, the wet tip smearing precum into her hairline. The shaft covered her whole cheek, its warmth bleeding into her skin. She could feel the pulse of him, slow and heavy, against the bone of her jaw. She closed her eyes and held it there, and the crowd made a sound like a wave breaking.
"Christ almighty," someone said. A woman, low and delighted. Anji laughed out loud.
Rhea opened one eye. Knox was looking up at her, his hazel eyes half-lidded, his mouth curved in something that was not quite a smile. Not quite not. He had one hand behind his head, the other resting on his own thigh, and he let her hold his cock against her face like a measuring tape made of flesh.
Barry's charcoal moved in quick, feverish strokes. He was bent over the sketchbook, his bare back gleaming, his whole wiry frame tense with focus. His own cock had stirred against his thigh, half-hard and forgotten, and he barely seemed to notice.
"Hold it," he muttered. "Almost."
Rhea held it. The sun baked the side of her face. Precum trickled from the tip and tracked down her temple into her hair. Her arms were starting to shake, the weight of even his cock enough to strain them at this angle.
"You know," Knox said, his voice unhurried, "most women use their mouth for that part."
"I know." She kept her face still, her cheek pressed to the wet shaft. "I'm being drawn."
"So I see."
"You sound like you'd rather I wasn't."
His thumb moved slowly across his own leg. "I'd rather do whatever helps Barry finish his picture. Then I'd like you back where you were. You were doing something with your tongue I liked."
"Charcoal takes a minute."
"It's a good minute." His gaze traveled over her, from her clutching hands up to the cock laid against her face, to the freckles he could see through the smeared wetness at her temple. "I've never been held like a prop before. It's new."
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late."
Barry's charcoal stopped. He straightened on his stool, tilted the sketchbook, and studied it with his head cocked. Then he looked up at them both, at the tableau, and back down at the page. He turned the book around so she could see.
It was her. Small hand wrapped around a cock that dwarfed her head, the length of it laid against her cheek, her face caught between concentration and something softer. Knox's body filled the background like a mountain range, his hand behind his head, relaxed, vast, patient. It was not flattering and it was not cruel. It was true.
Barry's green eyes came up to meet hers. He tapped the charcoal against the page once, twice, a nervous little rhythm, and then he asked, "Can you get it in your mouth from that angle? I want to draw the stretch."
"Yes," Rhea said. She heard the word come out of her own mouth, small and certain. "I can try."
Barry's charcoal tapped once against the page. He leaned forward on his stool, eyes bright.
Knox's head lifted off the sand. His gaze swept up her body to her face, and something in his expression shifted, a flicker of quiet surprise that he smoothed away before it fully formed. He settled back down without a word, and his hands came to rest on his own thighs, palms up, an offering.
She turned. His cock stood before her, thick and proud, wet along the shaft where her hands had worked it. She measured the distance with her eyes. From this angle, sitting astride his ribs, she would have to fold forward and drop her mouth straight down onto it. The head would press at her lips not from the side but from above, blunt and heavy.
She pushed up on her knees. The shift brought her higher, and she closed both hands around the base of his shaft. Her fingers barely met. She tilted her head and opened her jaw as wide as she could, then lowered herself onto him.
The head met her lips, wide as her palm. She stretched her mouth around it, feeling the crown press past her front teeth, the skin hot and slick. Her jaw screamed instantly. She breathed through her nose, shallow and quick, and pushed lower.
Two inches. Maybe three. She felt the thick ridge of the crown seated on her tongue, and beyond it, through the soft flesh of his shaft, the pulse of his blood. She couldn't take him deeper. Her throat had closed to a fist, and the pressure at the back of her palate was a bright, insistent ache. She held there, lips stretched to a thin ring around him, spit already pooling at the corners of her mouth.
"You move," Barry said, his voice low, absorbed, "and I'll catch the shadow of it. Just hold."
She held. Her jaw trembled. The sun baked her shoulders and her back, and the only sound was her own ragged breathing and the scratch of charcoal. Her hands stayed wrapped around his base, fingers straining.
Knox was still. He had gone completely silent, his chest rising in slow, shallow breaths. Beneath her palms she felt the fine tremor running through his shaft, the only sign of the effort it was costing him to stay passive. His hands rested on his thighs, open, unmoving.
"Knox," she said, or tried to. The name came out muffled, a warm vibration against his skin that made him shudder.
Barry's charcoal stopped. He looked up from the page, his green eyes finding hers, and held her gaze for a long moment. Then he turned the sketchbook around.
She saw it through the blur of her own tears. A woman folded over a man's body, her hair dark with sweat, her mouth stretched impossibly wide around a shaft that dwarfed her face, her hands a small pale patch at its base. The lines were quick and sure, but they caught the strain, the stretch, the wet shine of her lips where they met his flesh. It was not kind. It was exact.
"Done," Barry said.
Rhea pulled off. The head slipped free with a wet, reluctant sound, and a thick rope of spit followed, breaking against her chin. She gasped, her jaw aching, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lips felt swollen, numb at the corners.
"Christ," Anji breathed from the sand. "You got it in."
"Three inches," Rhea said. Her voice came out raw. "That's all."
"That's more than most could get."
Rhea did not answer. She was looking at the sketchbook, at the page turned toward her, at the way Barry had drawn her. Small. Strained. Stretched past what she could hold. She had never been seen like that before. She had never been drawn like that before.
She raised her eyes to Barry. "Can I keep it?"
Barry's mouth parted. He glanced at Knox, then back at her. The charcoal shifted in his fingers. "Yeah," he said. "It's yours."
He tore the page free of the book and held it out. She took it carefully by the edges. The paper was warm in her hands, the charcoal lines smudged where the sun had caught them. She turned to Knox.
He was sitting up now, elbows braced behind him, watching her with those steady hazel eyes. A smile had settled at the corner of his mouth, quiet and sure. His cock still stood against his belly, slick and red from the pressure of her mouth.
"Look what he made of you," Knox said. His voice was low, almost reverent.
She looked again at the drawing. Her own face, stretched wide. Her own hands, impossibly small. The truth of it, on paper, in sunlight.
"I'm going to frame it," she said.